


tear my eyes away

by allthatconfetti



Series: love me like you do [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Exhibitionism?, M/M, Oral Sex, also face fucking, idk it's sex in a room of mirrors, voyeurism?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthatconfetti/pseuds/allthatconfetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soonyoung, Wonwoo and a room made of mirrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tear my eyes away

**Author's Note:**

> hey. it's almost 5am and i'm posting this. this was unbeta'd, and also my first time dealing with pwp so please be nice. i tried figuring out all the... parts, but please forgive any mistakes. and any typos. whatever.
> 
> also apparently i'm incapable of writing soonwoo without feelings so... i'm sorry for all of that.
> 
> the original idea for this is from my lovely friend ao3 user coupsd. tysm ilu.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

Wonwoo makes a noise that’s half-snort and half-giggle. He twirls their shared luggage absentmindedly as he backs it into the open closet door. It’s the only solid surface in the room, a dark mahogany against the shiny mirrored surfaces. “You talk as if this wasn’t mostly your idea.”

Soonyoung opens his mouth to reply, but finds that he cannot disagree. “Okay, touché, but in my defense, I didn’t really expect a room of mirrors to actually exist. Speaking of which, how did you even know this place exists?”

Wonwoo is bent over their suitcase, unzipping the front pocket and taking out a variety of objects from the crevice. Soonyoung’s stomach tightens (in excitement? He’s NOT letting Wonwoo know that) as he observes just how prepared Wonwoo is for tonight. Lube, condoms. Handkerchiefs? Holy shit, this was happening. Wonwoo carries everything carefully onto the bed table surface, raises an eyebrow as he meets Soonyoung’s eyes. “There’s such a thing as the internet, you know.”

“Still,” Soonyoung replies. He’s still sitting in the chair by the door, a rigid plastic Tiffany. “Who knows what’s happened on those sheets.”

“Probably much of the same things we’ll be doing tonight,” Wonwoo deadpans, before smiling. “Still, I know it’s icky so I brought our own.” 

He walks over to Soonyoung, a curious expression on his face. He braces his arms on the chair’s frame, hovering over him and bringing their faces level, waits for a few beats, only inches apart. Soonyoung doesn’t budge even if his instinct is to do just that. It’s not about intimidation, see, but setting a mood.

Wonwoo looks at him, the glasses perched on the narrow bridge of his nose inching down almost imperceptibly, like he’s waiting. Soonyoung thinks that he’s almost unfairly attractive in this dim motel room, the yellow lighting making his eyes look shrouded and indiscernible.

There’s a quiet breath shared before Soonyoung closes the gap between them because he can’t not kiss Wonwoo when he’s this close and smells this good. He leans in and presses his lips against the other’s, hand coming up to stroke Wonwoo’s cheek, fingertips brushing against the ends of his newly-showered hair.

It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered, but the stillness in the room has Soonyoung’s stomach fluttering with anticipation. Wonwoo pulls back, feathers another kiss or two against the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth, before he stops, leans his forehead against his. “We can always just go home, if you don’t want to do this. If it’s too weird.”

(Home. The word still makes Soonyoung feel warm and gushy. Their tiny apartment with the ugly curtains and secondhand furniture.)

Soonyoung shakes his head, then smiles at Wonwoo. “And cancel our reservation? No way. Besides, this is my birthday present.” He runs a hand down Wonwoo’s shoulder and arm before standing. “Let me go take a shower and be right back.”

When Soonyoung steps out of the shower, he stifles a laugh. The bed is now covered in one of the ratty old sheets from their apartment -- a faded swathe of cotton Wonwoo got on sale that used to be dark blue but is now some weird kind of gray. Wonwoo’s stretched out on one side of the bed, scrolling through his phone, dressed only in boxers and a thin sleep shirt with some random cartoon character on it. Bart Simpson? Bart Simpson, Soonyoung thinks. His glasses are neatly folded on top of the table next to a little lamp. He looks up as Soonyoung walks across the room to their bag, using another one of his towels to dry off his hair.

“Are you going to get dressed?”

Soonyoung shrugs. He grabs a shirt and a pair of sweats anyway, tosses it over the nearby chair. “I’ll just keep it there. I’m not going to spend an extra five minutes looking for clothes in case there’s a fire.” He catches movement from the corner of his eye, and tells himself to relax. It’s just his own reflection. How the fuck was Wonwoo able to find a room of mirrors anyway?

“A lot of very weird phone calls,” he had said. “I just told them it was for my next article. They never asked.”

(The room itself wasn’t bad if a bit spartan; it at least seemed clean. There was a bed, a table and a pair of very uncomfortable plastic chairs, aside from the lone closet. The only other thing of note about it was that all the walls were made of mirrors.

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung had said when they first entered. He spun around, saw himself spin around at least a dozen other times, in the reflected surfaces. Wonwoo had just chuckled and told him not to get so overwhelmed that he would throw up. Soonyoung did that sometimes.)

(A few months ago, Soonyoung remarked that the sight of Wonwoo going down on him was the best thing he’d ever seen and Wonwoo retorted that watching him ride out an orgasm was the best sight he’d ever seen, to which Soonyoung lazily said that he’d give a lot of money to watch himself get off to one of Wonwoo’s blowjobs. “Maybe in a room with a mirror. A lot of mirrors. A room of mirrors. God that would be so great. I’d love that.”)

“I guess discretion is your business when you have a room of mirrors. Speaking of which, I wonder what other rooms they have around here.”

Wonwoo laughs, a low chuckle that Soonyoung feels in his chest. “I have a brochure. If you’re curious.” 

Soonyoung finds that he is, but it’s not the most pressing matter, currently. He watches himself in the mirror make his way to the bed, peering closely as his hand reaches up to shake the moisture from his hair. He turns around, craning his head to watch how his back creases with the movement.

He knows Wonwoo is watching him with amusement. Fingers trail up his calf, wrap around his kneecap. He lets himself be dragged down onto the bed next to Wonwoo, his head hitting the pillow lightly.

“Are you just looking at yourself? That’s a little vain, even for you Kwon Soonyoung,” Wonwoo muses, nose crinkling at how the other’s eyes are still fixated above them. 

“Even the ceiling has a mirror. That’s wild,” Soonyoung marvels over the way they’re reflected on the ceiling -- him, bare-chested, towel loosely wrapped around his hips, dyed silver hair contrasting against dark bedsheets, and Wonwoo, dark-haired and clothed, arm draped across his stomach, fingertips flirting with the end of the towel tucked against the catch of his hip. He’s curled against Soonyoung’s side, their legs rubbing over each other’s bare calves and Soonyoung watches, fascinated, as Wonwoo’s hand trails down his sternum, through the light path of hair running down his stomach.

In the mirror he sees Wonwoo lean closer to him and stifles a gasp when he feels a breath ghosting against his ear. “Watch,” Wonwoo whispers, and Soonyoung does just that. He watches as Wonwoo’s hand inches closer, sees his eyes widen when he feels Wonwoo’s hand palming him over the towel, his hips rolling involuntarily.

He can feel Wonwoo’s lips against his skin, can feel Wonwoo cupping his balls through the towel, but watching… There’s a strange sort of disconnect, an almost hedonistic thrill in the way Soonyoung is watching Wonwoo touch him. It’s too early for him to be this turned on but Wonwoo always told him he had an exhibitionist streak in him and this was kind of like that, except not really. When Wonwoo moves between his knees, tossing his shirt off neatly until he’s wearing only his boxers, Soonyoung’s eyes remain fixed over his shoulder. God, they looked good together. Fuck.

Wonwoo murmurs unintelligible things against Soonyoung’s cheek before dipping his head into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Soonyoung’s hand wraps around his nape and he wants nothing more than to loll his head back and close his eyes, to savor everything and just feel but he can’t tear his eyes away. Wonwoo is brushing hot paths up his neck and it feels like his very being is on fire. When Soonyoung watches Wonwoo finally part the towel to wrap a hand around his cock, he actually lets out a small whimper.

Soonyoung feels his insides curling into the tightly coiled knot in his stomach as he keeps his eyes fixed on his own face in the mirror. It’s less like porn and more like watching those strange art films, probably, except that everything is moving in slow motion, and Wonwoo is the only steady spot. He whines Wonwoo’s name when the latter bites lightly at his neck in time to the slow pumps to Soonyoung’s cock and, gripping him closer, drags his face away from his neck to kiss him.

They ease onto their sides and Soonyoung looks into his face for the first time since they started. Wonwoo’s eyes are fixed on his, and Soonyoung’s always overwhelmed at how expressive they are whenever they’re looking at him. He leans over and exhales, dragging his tongue over Wonwoo’s bottom lip. He nips and soothes, smiling a little when Wonwoo’s breath hitches. He files that away for next time. Soonyoung loves kissing (kissing Wonwoo) like this, languidly, almost lazily, lips sliding wetly over each other in a disjointed rhythm. Wonwoo taps Sooyoung's temples. His eyes flutter open and Wonwoo draws away a little, lips pink and swollen. Wordlessly, he points at the ceiling, and Soonyoung’s eyes shift upwards before Wonwoo presses his mouth over his.

Soonyoung moans low in his throat as he struggles to watch himself in the reflection. Brief glimpses are all he catches, but they’re enough. The sight of Wonwoo’s hands tracing his jawline and his tongue sliding against Soonyoung’s will have him fucked for days. He’s never given any thought about how they look like when they kiss each other but it’s intoxicating, a punch to the gut, when he watches teeth and tongues and lips meet over and over, like some kind of battle for dominance that neither party is interested in winning or losing. Wonwoo’s eyes meet his in the mirror and the way the corners of his mouth are curled is downright arrogant. Soonyoung wants to say something but Wonwoo’s moved back to his neck, sucking on the spot he knows drives him crazy, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Wonwoo’s deep rumble of a laugh sounds in his ear.

“Maybe later,” he replies, and Soonyoung would have shoved him if he hadn’t moved his hand down to grip at his cock again, slow, loose-wristed pumps.

Wonwoo kisses a path down his chest and Soonyoung’s stomach tightens in anticipation. He’s half-hard already when Wonwoo licks the tip of his cock, hands pressed firmly against his hips to stop him from bucking involuntarily. He clenches his hands in the sheets to stop himself from fisting them in Wonwoo’s hair as the latter licks a stripe from the base to the tip. Wonwoo wasn’t fond of that without proper warning.

“Soonyoung,” he feels Wonwoo murmuring against his hip.

“Mmm-what?”

“Open your eyes.”

Oh, he realizes. What an idiot. He opens his eyes and looks at Wonwoo, who’s looking back at him, eyebrow quirked, hand lazily moving up and down Soonyoung’s length. The sight of it makes Soonyoung groan.

“You’re supposed to be watching yourself,” Wonwoo says, amused. Soonyoung hisses as he feels Wonwoo’s mouth wrap around him, tongue flicking over his slit the way he likes. He’s even humming a little, the asshole. 

He looks up at the ceiling and whispers “fuck” under his breath at the image. He’s tinted pink all over, little red bites scattered across his neck and chest where Wonwoo’s nipped and marked. He’s squirming, resisting the urge to fuck Wonwoo’s face, which is hard, given that Wonwoo’s taken to sucking hard at the head of his cock and pumping the length of him at a quickening pace.

Soonyoung hisses again, stopping a wrecked sob from escaping his throat when Wonwoo loosens his hold on Soonyoung’s hips, allowing permission to dictate the pace. His fingers dive into Wonwoo’s hair, ignoring the little grunt of protest he makes, and his hips move of their own volition, thrusting shallowly. He looks up and groans loudly, the knot of heat in his groin tightening at the sight. “Fuck, Wonwoo, holy shit.” His ears are filled with the slick sound of Wonwoo’s mouth on him, but the sight of it, the image of him writhing on the bed as he pistons his hips into Wonwoo’s face, hands gripping the sides of his head, mouth slack, lips moist, is too much. He knows he’s going to come, can sense that Wonwoo knows this too. He watches as Wonwoo strokes his thigh slowly, almost reassuringly, before his hand snakes into his boxers. Soonyoung bites his lip, looks down and sees Wonwoo’s eyes, dark and hooded, looking steadily back at him with his hand nestled between his hips, fisting quickly; they look at each other and Soonyoung feels like his whole being has been set aflame.

He comes looking at Wonwoo touch himself, back arching into him and a long high-pitched whine at the ceiling. His body is one long curve and his mouth is slack at the pleasure coursing through every fiber of his being. He closes his eyes as he rides it out, small little quivers running through him and he hears, feels Wonwoo move up next to him. Soonyoung reaches out for him, holds him close. Eyes still closed, his hands run from Wonwoo’s waist up his chest, fingers briefly tracing his collarbones before running up his neck to cradle his face. Thumbs rubbing against his cheekbones, he presses his lips blindly against Wonwoo’s, hears Wonwoo’s quiet groan as he opens his mouth to Soonyoung. He tastes himself on Wonwoo’s tongue, the slightly salty taste strangely exhilarating every time. He kisses with a little more eagerness this time, a little more honesty, trying to convey a certain something. 

(Wonwoo would laugh at him. “Thanks for letting you come in my mouth? Sure, anytime.” He would definitely have to hit him.) 

Wonwoo’s hands rubbing tiny circles at the small of his back answer him perfectly.

“Good idea?” Wonwoo breathes against his lips, and Soonyoung smiles. He opens his eyes and looks at Wonwoo, eyes half-closed, a tiny grin on his face and the beginnings of a flush across his cheeks. God, he thinks, Wonwoo is so fucking pretty like this, the pink dusting his cheeks like his body knows what he’s going to do before his brain catches up.

“You’ve always had nice ones,” Soonyoung murmurs in reply. Wonwoo’s hands slide along his hips, and Soonyoung bites his lip to stifle a groan as he clutches at his bottom, pressing their hips together. He’s still a little sensitive and the feeling of rubbing against the cloth of Wonwoo’s boxers is too much for him.

Soonyoung loves watching people in motion, loves the way bodies move and muscles stretch and flex and curve, but he’s never really understood just how much until he watches how he and Wonwoo move together, his tanned skin golden against the other’s, hands roaming and clutching and gripping, legs tangled so tightly he can’t tell where he ends and where Wonwoo begins. His hands grasp at Wonwoo’s boxers to pull them down, hand wrapping around his cock as soon as they bunch around his knees. Wonwoo’s breath hitches, his head coming down to rest against Soonyoung’s collarbone, lips mouthing wetly at the spot.

Wonwoo’s already hard, Soonyoung thinks, as he rubs a finger over the tip of his cock, thumbing idly over his slit and the head. Wonwoo moans, and Soonyoung feels it reverberate through his chest into his own. Wonwoo’s hand wraps over his and they pump the length of him slowly, almost leisurely. It’s Soonyoung’s turn to take Wonwoo’s chin and face him towards the ceiling, whispering at him to open his eyes and pressing his lips against the exposed curve of his jaw.

“Fuck, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo breathes as his eyes latch onto the sight of their joined hands pumping him. Soonyoung murmurs in response, worrying Wonwoo’s earlobe between his teeth.

Wonwoo draws back. Heavy-lidded, Soonyoung watches him kick off his boxers and reach over him, grabbing at the condom and the KY Jelly at the side of the bed. “Turn over,” he says, unscrewing the lid of the tube, and Soonyoung does just that, burying his nose in the pillow.

“Aren’t I supposed to be watching?”

“Later.” Wonwoo’s fingers are slick and pressing against him, and Soonyoung has barely enough time to breathe before one of his fingers enters him, knuckle deep. He inhales sharply, curving his back a little, and Wonwoo presses tiny kisses onto his lower back to ease the discomfort.

“More,” Soonyoung breathes, and Wonwoo acquiesces to his demand. Another finger, then another, three digits working on preparing him. Soonyoung clutches the pillow in his arms tightly, feels the ache in the pit of his stomach return as Wonwoo fucks him with his fingers. He’s whimpering into the pillow, raising himself a little higher to meet his fingers, toes curling into the mattress. He needs, wants Wonwoo to unravel him, strand by strand, until there’s nothing left of him.

“Ready?” Wonwoo asks, and Soonyoung nods. His breath stutters at the sudden emptiness when Wonwoo pulls his fingers out and he flips over almost immediately, drawing Wonwoo towards him with hands and knees. He can see himself again from this angle. His hair is a mess and there’s a thin film of sweat covering his shoulders, but he presses himself fully against Wonwoo, reaching down to guide him.

Wonwoo grasps at his hips and Soonyoung arches his back as the tip of Wonwoo’s cock enters him. It’s slow, almost torturously so, and Soonyoung whines and hooks his heel over Wonwoo’s lower back to hasten the process. Wonwoo breathes against his neck, a low chuckle ghosting over Soonyoung’s collarbone.

“You’re impatient.”

Soonyoung clutches at his shoulders, teeth clenched and bared. Sometimes Wonwoo was such a fucking tease. He lets out a breathy moan as Wonwoo inches into him slowly, hips perfectly controlled. The momentary discomfort is replaced by a tightly wound coil of need in his groin. He runs his hands up and down Wonwoo’s back, gripping at his shoulder blades, urging him to move. “Just fuck me already, Wonwoo. God.”

He groans, almost embarrassingly loudly, as Wonwoo finally starts to thrust into him, shallowly at first, and then long full strokes that make him want to fall apart piece by piece. He raises his knees higher, and Wonwoo takes the hint and hooks his arms around them, hips moving at a quickening pace. 

Soonyoung tries to keep his eyes open and on the mirror above him, but Wonwoo is hitting that spot and it’s making his vision blurry. He snakes one of his hands down to wrap around himself, timing his pumps to Wonwoo’s thrusts and gasping when Wonwoo drops his head to lap roughly against the pulse at his throat. It’s dizzying, almost, the heat in his groin almost unbearably hot, and he’s acutely aware of every nerve in his body feeling like they’re on fire. He screws his eyes shut, strokes himself harder, faster. A whine catches in his throat as Wonwoo mirrors his pace. He’s close, he’s so fucking close.

Wonwoo’s hips stutter and he comes with a low cry muffled against the skin of Soonyoung’s throat. Soonyoung’s hand moves into his hair to hold him closer as he collapses onto him, biting back a whine when Wonwoo breathes low and shaky into his ear.

“God, fuck. Look at yourself, Soonyoung. Just look.”

Soonyoung does, and he meets Wonwoo’s eyes in the mirror, half-lidded and heavy. He’s still inside him, hips rolling against his and hands gripping at Soonyoung’s waist. The sight takes Soonyoung right to the edge and after a few more strokes he comes, again, all over Wonwoo’s stomach, ragged and breathy whimpers into the other’s cheek and face.

Wonwoo chuckles, low and pleased, and Soonyoung is too tired to mind his ego, instead pressing his mouth against his. He closes his eyes and lays his hands against Wonwoo’s chest while the other kisses him, soft and gentle. He keeps his eyes closed as he feels Wonwoo pull out, only keeping his arms open as he hears Wonwoo deal with cleaning himself up and turning off the lights before climbing back into bed. He’s a clingy post-sex partner, but he knows Wonwoo doesn’t mind. 

(If he did, then the last three years must have been very awkward for him.)

“Apparently they serve breakfast at eight,” Wonwoo tells him, punctuating the sentence with a yawn. He lets Soonyoung drape himself over him and use his shoulder as a pillow as he drags the covers over them.

Soonyoung is already half-asleep. “The thought of what kind of breakfast a place with a room of mirrors serves kind of scares me.”

“Me too.”

“Still, it’ll be good to know. For next time.”

Wonwoo laughs and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Soonyoung feels him press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Okay. For next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> i cant believe the longest piece of fic ive ever written is room of mirrors sex forgive me ksy and jww.


End file.
